


Puns and Pillows

by bobbiewickham



Series: X-ameron [16]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:49:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham
Summary: Bossuet makes an ill-advised pun. (Or, the aftermath of "daughter of five louis, pull off my boots").
Series: X-ameron [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669762
Kudos: 4





	Puns and Pillows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crimsondust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/gifts).



> Written to fill a tumblr prompt asking for Bossuet with anyone, and some kind of minor hijinks.

“Daughter of five louis,” Henriette repeated, flinging a pillow at Lesgle’s head.

Lesgle beamed. “You have to admit it’s clever.” He ducked the second pillow, and then a third. “Hey! Have mercy on my poor head, please.”

“But why? It makes such an inviting target. So shiny. So empty.”

“Oh, now, that is cheap and unfair.”

“On the contrary, it is eminently just, and costs cinq louis.” Henriette punctuated this sally with another pillow, which Lesgle dodged again, only to trip and fall over his own just-removed boot. “Just like everything else about me, right?” She picked up the first pillow and threw it again, and this time he couldn’t dodge: it smacked him right in the pate.

“That is not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?” Henriette folded her arms. She found Lesgle enjoyable, but he couldn’t be permitted any impertinence. None of these students could. Give them an inch and they took all of France. They had to be kept in their place.

Lesgle put his hands up. “You were half drunk when I found you anyway, I think you still are. I don’t think you could even tell how much money I was spending on dinner.”

Henriette scowled, partly because Lesgle wasn’t wrong, and partly because her head was starting to hurt. How many glasses of wine had it been, anyway? And how much food? Her stomach hurt, too. Maybe it really had been five louis worth.

Lesgle went on: “You know where I’m from, right?”

“A chicken, like all other eggs.”

“Enough with the jokes about my baldness. The first is clever, the second merely tiresome, and shows a lack of original wit.”

“Ah, yes, and jokes calling a grisette a whore are the height of originality, are they?”

Lesgle winced. “That is _not what I meant_. Look, I’m from Meaux.” He paused, as if he expected this to mean something to her. “My name is Lesgle and I’m from Meaux. Lesgle de Meaux, do you–”

“I understand.” Henriette shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand. “Bossuet. Of course.”

“My friends call me Bossuet, of course. Unavoidable.”

“Hopefully the original is spinning in his grave. He deserves you for a namesake. _Fille de cinq louis_ , you were–this whole thing was a stupid _pun_?”

“I wouldn’t call it stupid,” Lesgle objected. “How could a Bossuet resist giving an oration to an Henriette?”

Another thrown pillow was the only response, and Henriette flung herself on the bed with a theatrical groan. “At least those Henriettes were dead and gone and couldn’t hear it. Bury me next time before you give my oration, will you?”


End file.
